Blue ; Timothée Chalamet

43.

April let me into Frankie's apartment quietly. I pulled off my beanie and stepped inside, nodding at April. I look around at Frankie's apartment. Everything is clean and tidy, the same as the last time I was here. 

"Thanks for calling me." I finally say.

April nods slightly. "You're welcome. She's in the room sleeping." 

I grind my teeth for a second before continuing. "Did you speak to her?" 

"When she arrived, yes," April says, ushering me inside more.

"And?"

"She apologized for not calling or letting me know where she was; she thought I would be upset because I wasn't paid, but I was more concerned about whether she was alive." 

I nod in agreement. 

"She's pretty badly beaten up" April shakes her head. "She has track marks all over her arms." 

"Baxter."

April looks at me. "Really?"

"Yes, she's been seeing him again for some time now." 

"That makes a lot of sense." 

April has been living at Frankie's for the past four years. She lives in the back room with her own bathroom and walk-in closet. Frankie's parents hired her to clean up, cook, and look after Frankie from time to time.

"Is it alright if I go in there?" My eyes shift to the hallway leading to Frankie's room.

"Of course." 

I thank April and gingerly make my way towards Frankie's bedroom. Her door was cracked when I reached it, the blinds drawn and her fan going on high speed. As I opened the door, I noticed the balcony was slightly cracked open, letting the blinds breeze back and forth calmly. 

I don't see Frankie, only her silhouette under her ginormous plush comforter. I kick off my shoes and unzip my jacket, leaving them both on the loveseat by the bed. I crawl on the top of the bed and lay my head on a pillow.

"Frankie?" I say.

I stare at what I can see of her. Her comforter was pulled so high up that I could only see her eyes and the top of her head. Her left cheekbone was bruised and slightly raised. I pull my phone out of my pocket to send Layla a message that Frankie returned home—texting Layla to inform her hadn't occurred to me until now. 

I sighed, turning onto my back and staring at the ceiling fan. My thoughts raced about what went on while she was at Baxter's. Everything she endured to get high. I had a slight inkling that she was at his house but didn't dare bring myself to go by there and check after what had happened to both of us a few months ago. I close my eyes and rest for a few minutes. The last two weeks were hell; I couldn't sleep or eat, thinking Frankie was lying in a ditch somewhere. I almost opted to call her parents, but what the fuck do they ever know. 

I must've been asleep for two hours before I awoke to the bathroom door closing. I see Frankie not in bed, insinuating she's up using the bathroom. I hear a deep sigh come from the other side of the door. The room was now dark due to the sun being set. I shift my position to the side, staring at the bathroom. The light inside wasn't on, just a tiny nightlight near her sink trying its best to glow its little beam underneath the door. 

My heart beats in my chest, trying to decide what to say when she returns to bed. My mind is racing a mile a minute. Do I scold her? Do I question her? Do I-

The bathroom door opened quietly, and Frankie stepped out, shutting it softly behind her; she made her way back to bed, grabbing the comforter and slugging herself under it.